


Written on the Skin

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood, F/M, Like it's sad, Self-Harm, Soulmates, and some fluff, and then sad, but not totally sad ok, post-eos, there is some funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Aelin is in Maeve’s control, and she becomes desperate to reach out to Rowan. She is driven to extreme measures, and they discover a method of communication that they didn’t know they were able to access. So what do they say when they know they have limited time and skin?"Aelin shifted slightly on her feet, trying to make her movements so minute that she wouldn’t draw Maeve’s attention. She could move, of course. She wasn’t frozen, rooted to the spot, stuck in chains or magic. In theory, Aelin could have danced a solo waltz in front of Maeve and her entire court, her skirts swishing around her legs, her arms held up in the proper position to be guided by an invisible partner. But freedom only lasted as long as she did what Maeve wanted, which was no sort of freedom at all.At Maeve’s side, Aelin’s clasped hands hid fingernails that dug into her palms."





	Written on the Skin

Aelin stood near the dais where Maeve was seated, trying to stifle a yawn. She’d been there for hours, and the parade of grovelers wasn’t likely to abate anytime soon. Her hands were clasped together, the picture of obedience in her long, pale blue silk dress, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were rimmed in green, her lashes darkened, her lips covered in a pink tint that hinted at health.  
  
A band of thin gold circled across Aelin’s forehead, reminding everyone present of who she was. Of who she should have been.  
  
It was far from the ornate crown Aelin had seen her mother wear to important political gatherings. As a child, Aelin had tried to slip the gem-encrusted ornament on, but it had a tendency to fall over her eyes, to pinch her ears too close to her head. Her mother had laughed at that, had spoken of a future when Aelin would grow into the crown that was her birthright. There was no need to complain, she’d said in her gentle, lilting tones. It didn’t seem fair, at the time, that Aelin had to wait to wear such a pretty thing.  
  
Once, Aelin and Aedion had snuck into the room where the royal jewels were kept, and acted out a coronation scene. She had thrown her mother’s ermine cape on, and it trailed behind her for yards. Aedion carried a sword that he struggled to control, its weight being near to his own. He went through the motions, blessing her with the future care of Terrasen, swearing to be her loyal servant, and she bowed her head as he placed the crown on her. Aelin did her best to look regal with the heavy metal weighing her down, and neither of them noticed when her father, watching the scene from the door they had left cracked open, sighed and turned away, closing the door behind him.  
  
Later, Aelin learned the true weight of her crown.  
  
She could barely feel this one as it rested on her. Even hours later, when the ribbing in her dress dug into her side and her shoes bit into her feet, she forgot it was there. She might have lost it and not noticed. Everything that she wore, from the cosmetics to the clothes to the scars, it was because Maeve willed it. In a world where her magic was power and her lineage traced back to Gavin and Elena, Maeve would be remiss to deny Aelin a crown. But that wasn’t the point, really. Maeve didn’t want anyone to see Aelin as the Queen of Terrasen, but she didn’t want them to forget who she held under her thumb, either. And so here it was, an ill-fitting mockery of the symbol of wealth and power that Aelin should have had. A small, tarnished band. It was more of a yoke around her neck than anything else, really.  
  
Aelin shifted slightly on her feet, trying to make her movements so minute that she wouldn’t draw Maeve’s attention. She could move, of course. She wasn’t frozen, rooted to the spot, stuck in chains or magic. In theory, Aelin could have danced a solo waltz in front of Maeve and her entire court, her skirts swishing around her legs, her arms held up in the proper position to be guided by an invisible partner. But freedom only lasted as long as she did what Maeve wanted, which was no sort of freedom at all.  
  
At Maeve’s side, Aelin’s clasped hands hid fingernails that dug into her palms.  
  
They came here nearly every day, and Aelin hated the way that everyone stared. She longed to glare at them, to bare her teeth, to cause a storm of wind and fire just to block out their pity and their smirks of superiority. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen, reduced to a lackey in Maeve’s court. Who would have thought? Maeve had a purpose for her, but no one knew yet what it was. Aelin had no doubt that more than a few of the courtiers who frequented this hall hoped to take some of her power for themselves.  
  
An imposing demi-fae approached Maeve’s throne, swiftly bowing on one knee before her, lowering his head in deference. She tapped her long fingernails on the stone arm of her throne. Aelin didn’t recognize him. Not that it mattered. For all the interest they all showed in her, she refused to pay them the same regard.  
  
As he stood, the demi-fae glanced over at Aelin, just for a moment. It was a mistake.  
  
Maeve sat up straighter. “Why are you here?” Her voice rang out in the large hall, echoing. There had hardly been a sound before, yet the room still managed to fall silent.  
  
“Your majesty?” the man stuttered.  
  
“Are you here for a favor? Or to gawk at my guest?” Maeve flicked her hand in Aelin’s direction. Guest. What a concise, clean word to describe their relationship.  
  
Maeve gathered her long red skirts in one fist, then stood. Her heels clicked on the cold marble floor as she descended the steps from her throne.  
  
As much as Aelin was dressed up to be a spectacle, Maeve could be touchy about attention being drawn away from herself. After all, Aelin’s role there was to serve, to be subservient. Not to become more interesting than her mistress. It wasn’t the first time someone, fae or otherwise, had made the mistake. It wouldn’t be the last.  
  
Maeve’s blood red skirts hissed on the floor as she approached the man. Smartly, he bent his head, looking at the tips of the his own shoes rather than meet her gaze. She kept walking until the man was cowering within himself, making himself as small as he could, though he was inches taller than Maeve.  
  
“Apologies, your majesty.” He waited for her response. They all waited, some with more amusement on their faces than others.  
  
“Would you like her?” Maeve asked. “Do you want to use her? She is rather pretty. Or at least some would say so.” Maeve sneered. “Perhaps you’d like to try her out first? I’ve heard she has quite the talent for getting a man’s blood boiling.”  
  
Aelin pressed the tip of her tongue between her teeth to keep from grinding them together. Maeve would hear. She would know, and she would punish. Best not to let her frustration be known.  
  
The man looked up, frowned, began to speak again, but a jeweled hand across his face interrupted his speech. He reached up to cup his face, unsure if he should expect more of the same. Aelin saw blood seeping from between his fingers, wondered if Maeve would lean forward and lick it clean like the serpent she was.  
  
“Leave.”  
  
The man bowed and turned quickly, snapping at his footman to follow. No one wasted a moment when Maeve had them in her grasp and then let them go.  
  
Maeve turned to Aelin, cocking her head. She pushed aside the train of her dress as if she were going to approach, but she merely contemplated Aelin, taking in the dress, the crown. The only sound in the hall was the clicking boots of the man who had been humiliated, and a tension hung in the air.  
  
Without a word, Maeve turned away and began to walk to the entrance. A courtier came running, placed a heavy fur coat over her shoulders, then backed away, bowing. Aelin followed without being asked. The routine was familiar enough, by now. She led the procession of courtiers, close enough to reach Maeve’s back and thrust a dagger between her shoulder blades, had she a weapon on herself. Had she not been restrained in other ways.  
  
By the time they reached the dark hallway leading to Maeve’s quarters, everyone else had fallen away, disappearing to their own rooms or shifting to return home. Aelin wasn’t allowed to leave until she had been given permission. She had spent more than a few nights lying outside the chamber doors, Maeve pretending that she had merely forgotten to dismiss her.  
  
Before her door, Maeve turned and looked Aelin up and down. “Have you learned your lesson?”  
  
Aelin sighed. “What lesson?”  
  
“I heard you.” Maeve paused.  
  
Aelin’s mind spun. What had Maeve heard her do? Shift, shuffle her feet, try to ignore the screaming pain from the wounds on her back that she refused to let heal?  
  
“Open your mouth,” Maeve commanded.  
  
Aelin complied. Like a godsdamned dog.  
  
Maeve reached up, grasping Aelin’s tongue between her fingers. “Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I don’t see every thought in your head, every desire, every bit of hatred you hold for me?” She smiled, her eyes glittering.  
  
Aelin stood still, not wanting to move and provoke Maeve, but refusing to cast her eyes downward, away. She could lose her tongue right now, and it wouldn’t matter. Lysandra would still speak for her.  
  
“Sometimes I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Maeve continued. “All of this parading about, keeping you on a leash. Do you know what Erawan would do to get ahold of you? Just to get to me?”  
  
Aelin tried not to frown. For months, Maeve had hinted at something that she felt she should have understood, should have pieced together. It would have been so much easier to give up, to die, but Maeve wouldn’t let her. Aelin first thought it was for her power, but there was something else, something she hadn’t quite grasped yet.  
  
“Do you know the horrible, nasty things he would do to you?” Maeve pulled tighter, forcing Aelin to sway on her feet or lose her balance.  
  
A tear sprung in the corner of Aelin’s eye. All the will in the world wouldn’t keep it from falling down her cheek. Aelin added it to the tally, the debt she would one day repay.  
  
Maeve let go, pushing Aelin away so roughly that her head snapped to the side in the process. “It’s no matter. You’re far too valuable to me to kill. Even if you can open that gate for him.” Maeve lifted her hand and brushed Aelin away, shooing her as one would a fly. “Leave. I’ll send for you in the morning.”  
  
Aelin curtsied and made her way through one winding hallway, then down a spiral staircase, down another corridor, and another series of stairs until she found her room. It was more of a cell. No one would see her here, so there was no use in dressing up the space as Maeve dressed her up. Aelin completed her evening ritual in silence, taking off the heavy, gilded gown, and slipping on a stiff, scratchy shift.  
  
She padded over to the blankets on the floor that made up her bed, the iron shackles around her ankles clanging together now that the fabric of her dress no longer prevented them from meeting as she walked. The sound grated in her ears nearly as much as her own silence had become deafening over the past few months.  
  
Turning, she spied a small stool, one of the few pieces of furniture she’d been allowed. In a few quick strides, Aelin had it in her hands, lifted over her head, and then smashed it to pieces. Breathing heavily, she tossed the remaining pieces of wood to the floor. She would not cry. She refused.  
  
A glint of metal on the ground caught her eye.  
  
Aelin picked up a small metal screw that had been used to hold some piece of the stool together. She turned the screw in her hands, contemplating. She pressed her fingertip to the end opposite the head, testing it, drawing a drop of blood.  
  
Facing its sharp edge towards the skin of her forearm, she hesitated. There were few ways in which she had control of her own body, these days. This would be one. It might anger Maeve, for there to be evidence that not every action Aelin took was in her control, but she could wear long sleeves until it healed.  
  
Settling herself onto her bedding, Aelin took the edge to her skin, carving out a message.  
  
_I want out._  
  
*****  
  
Rowan stood from his crouched position, taking in the horizon, stretching his legs. The sun was going down, but that didn’t mean his vigilance would reduce as well. The woods that their camp was erected on the edge of required more care at night, if anything.  
  
Elide was putting out the fire that had cooked their dinner so as to not draw the attention of whatever might lurk in the dark, while Lorcan washed their sweat-soaked clothing. Gavriel had come to remind Rowan that his watch was nearly over, and he could feel his gaze, still watching him, waiting for Rowan to stop looking at the path they would take the next day as if Aelin would materialize from thin air.  
  
Really, Rowan wanted them all to stop treating him as if he were made of glass. He clenched his fists and then knelt to gather the rough metal plate from the ground that had carried his meal, and paused. He felt an itch on his forearm that rapidly became a sting. That sting turned into a cut and Rowan felt blood dripping down his forearm. He gasped and pulled back the fabric of his shirt, finding no cause, no pest to shoo away.  
  
“Rowan?” Gavriel came striding back. “What is it?”  
  
Rowan held up his free hand to silence Gavriel, and then held up his injured arm so that they could both watch the strokes being made. This wasn’t some forest sprite or petty trick. The stinging on his arm began to form letters, and the letters formed words on his arm. The fae here might be tricksters, but they rarely had intelligent designs besides causing trouble and carnage.  
  
_I want out._  
  
“What?” Gavriel began to say, but Rowan cut him off.  
  
“Aelin.” He looked back up at the horizon as if there were some connection between it and the wounds that had appeared on his arm. Wiping the blood away with a clean cloth that Elide handed him, Rowan began to search the camp.  
  
Lorcan, Gavriel, and Elide exchanged glances. They had been at this for months, all of them on the verge of breaking down, giving up. It was hard to see this new development as anything positive.  
  
“How do you know it’s her?” Elide asked Rowan. She wasn’t incredulous, or skeptical. Her question was genuine. Meanwhile, Lorcan knew enough to keep quiet.  
  
“I haven’t felt her, not since.” Rowan didn’t need to say when that connection between them had dulled to nothing. “This is the first time I’ve felt anything like her. I’m sure.”  
  
“Did you know you could do this?” Elide asked, “That you could communicate this way?”  
  
Rowan shook his head. “We’ve never had reason to. How would we know?” He found what he was looking for, a small dagger with a sharp, neat end.  
  
Before Rowan could sit down to his task, to answer her in his own blood, Gavriel placed a hand on his shoulder. He proffered an ink quill from his personal belongings, along with a pot of ink. “I’ve heard of this. I’ve used it before, in fact. All you have to do is write on your own skin, and she will see it. Where she writes on herself, it will show on you. And you can do the same. It’s a trait unique to mates.” Everyone looked at him in surprise. “Aedion’s mother,” he said, answering the question they hadn’t yet asked.  
  
“And this works?” Rowan gestured to the quill. “It doesn’t have to hurt?”  
  
Gavriel nodded. “This will work.”  
  
No one asked why Aelin had resorted to a blade. The more chilling question was why she had felt the need to carve into herself at all, when she didn’t know Rowan would receive the message.  
  
Elide sat next to Rowan. They had traveled miles, months together on roads and hidden paths, and still they had not figured a way to free Aelin from a trap she had walked into willingly. They had, however, learned to live with and respect one another. “What are you going to say to her?” Elide asked.  
  
Rowan only need a moment to consider. To say everything that he needed to say to the his mate, his wife, his queen. Rolling up the sleeve covering his other arm, he began to write.  
  
_I am coming, Fireheart._  
  
*****  
  
Aelin woke on the cold stone floor at her normal hour. She had managed to roll off of her blankets, and groaned at her stiff muscles. The sun was allowed to come into her cell, a reminder of the outside world that continued to go on without her. It was rather convenient for Maeve as well, to have Aelin awake early enough to attend to her.  
  
She reached down to rub the marks she had carved into her skin, grimaced when she found them. She lifted her arm above her head, fingers searching. Maeve controlled her healing abilities, like she controlled every other bit of Aelin’s day. If she’d known that Aelin had carved into herself, she surely wouldn’t have taken pity to heal her, but it also wouldn’t do to make it look as if Aelin were up to something that Maeve herself hadn’t ordered.  
  
Aelin looked away from the arm with the marks she had made in herself, and noticed black smudges on her other forearm. She licked a finger and made to wipe them away, until she realized that they spelled something out. Opposite of her own silent plea, Aelin found a message, written in ink.  
  
_I am coming, Fireheart._  
  
Aelin sat up, sucking in a breath. She glanced around the room, trying to find evidence that someone had stolen in during the night and done this to her. All around her was the cold, familiar stone. She traced the words with her fingertips, Rowan’s voice coming into her head. She whispered them to herself, over and over, until she wanted to scream them out loud and the tears were streaming down her face.  
  
But no. It wouldn’t do any good to scream now.  
  
Aelin stood up, bathed using the basin that was left in her room, and dressed. Today, she would do exactly what Maeve wanted. She would preen and smile politely and nothing, nothing Maeve said would get to her, would break her.  
  
And then, when Maeve wasn’t paying attention, Aelin would find something she could use to answer Rowan back with.  
  
The next few hours passed in a blur. Cairn hovered nearby, a not-so-subtle reminder to her that Maeve was not above physical punishment. Seeing the man who had ravaged her back made the injuries burn worse than usual, as if his proximity was designed to continue her torture. He was usually off on an errand for Maeve, and so his presence made it difficult for Aelin to slip away unnoticed, or pocket anything she might need.  
  
But Aelin wouldn’t have been much of an assassin if stealth wasn’t one of the most powerful tools in her arsenal. A quill and ink found their way into the folds of her dress, kept separately so that they wouldn’t knock into one another and make noise. Maeve held court again, Aelin simpered, sure to keep up a defiant edge so as not to arouse suspicion, and she tried to ignore Cairn’s leering.  
  
Months had passed, and he hadn’t touched her again. Not in that violent way, or any other. But that day, he watched Aelin with a look that had her hackles up. She did her best to keep from being cornered by him. Aelin knew she walked a fine line, allowing Maeve to play dress up, moving her around like a marionette, while still defending herself against all the sycophants in the court.  
  
Maeve asked Aelin to retrieve a shawl from her room during dinner. Nothing unusual, just another order barked in front of crowds of fae who would cackle in delight at the way the heir of Terrasen went to fetch and do Maeve’s bidding.  
  
Aelin was on her way back, holding the black cashmere in her hands when she heard the slow, sure footsteps clipping across the stone floor. There was a bend in the corridor and she couldn’t see who was coming, but she knew. She’d know Cairn’s movements for the rest of her life, as much as she wanted to erase them from her memory.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Aelin searched the well of magic that once existed inside of her, only to find it a barren cavern. Clenching her fists, she recalled her other gifts, which were just as formidable.  If it were any other day, Aelin might have been prepared to defend herself with bloody fists and a smile. But this day, she had a message written on her body that she needed to protect, something like hope to keep secret.  
  
“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius,” Cairn said, his voice affecting a croon but coming out far too greasy to be that elegant. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Aelin held the shawl up. “Maeve asked me for this. She wouldn’t want to be kept waiting.”  
  
Aelin made to move around him, but he took up a godsdamned large portion of the hallway. She pressed herself against the wall to slide by, but he leaned in until she was trapped between his hulk and uneven rock wall that dug into her back.  
  
Under normal circumstances a jab to the throat, stomping on the inner sole his foot, or a dozen other moves she knew would have made quick work of him. But today, she couldn’t rouse his ire. She had to get away. Along with the message from Rowan, a precious bottle of ink and a quill were tucked away in her pockets. If he found them, who knew what Maeve would order.  
  
Even when she thought she had already lost everything, Aelin was dismayed to realize that she still clung to hope.  
  
“What do you want, Cairn?” Aelin looked away from him, tried to keep from breathing in the fetid air that he expelled in her direction. She could feel his breath hot on her face, and counted the moments until she would be away from him. He was a head taller than her, nearly twice her size, and even if the old Aelin could have taken him in a moment, this Aelin, the one who had something to lose, was overwhelmed by the sheer size of him.  
  
Cairn reached down and grabbed her hand, somewhat gentler than she expected. She looked up in surprise.  
  
“Maeve made me do it, you know.” He grinned, the pad of his thumb stroking the palm of her hand. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it. But I think we could have had fun together, under different circumstances.”  
  
The sleeve of Aelin’s dress slipped down to her elbow, exposing the words she had carved into herself the night before. Cairn’s nose twitched, and his eyes followed the scent of blood.  
  
“What did you do, Aelin?” He looked down, eyes narrowing at the words she had made with the edge of the screw. His fingers brushed over the skin, pressing into them, and she gasped in pain. Aelin held her breath, willing him not to look at her other arm, to explore other bits of exposed skin. What if Rowan were to write again, now? Let Cairn do what he would, as long as he didn’t realize that she was still connected to her mate.  
  
Cairn pressed his lips against the warmth of the pulse in her wrist. “Be more careful in the future,” he said. “You know how Maeve likes her things kept in order.” He let go of her hand, took a step back, and Aelin allowed herself to take in a full breath of air.  
  
One day, he would pay too, and it would be a slow, bloody death. She walked away from Cairn, forcing herself to keep from running. Aelin could hear him chuckle as she fled, but she didn’t give a damn. Let him laugh now. He wouldn’t be laughing when she took the last of his life’s blood from him.  
  
By the time she was able to return to her cell at the end of the day, Aelin was nearly sick with anticipation. Her cheeks hurt not from smiling, but from keeping a grin off her face. Who knew that schooling her face into neutrality would be such work when she had something of real value to hide from that spider-eyed bitch queen.  
  
Aelin hadn’t heard from Rowan in months. Maeve’s control of her magic ensured that any psychic connection they had was severed, but this… This was older magic, tied to their mating bond, or one of the other dozen oaths they had made together. The idea that her mate was there, that she might be able to tell him once more time that she loved him… Aelin held back a sob.  
  
Allowing herself to fall away from the world hadn’t worked when it turned out that there were people in the world who loved her enough to call her back, and Aelin found that she was more desperate for communication with those she had left behind than she realized.  
  
Aelin changed out of her long gown and into her shift. While she was still naked she checked her skin for more messages from Rowan, but found none. She could only assume that he was waiting for her. After all, she was the one in the spider’s lair, the one who had something to lose if she were caught.  
  
Aelin set her supplies out on the bedding, careful not to tip the ink or break the nib of the quill. She’d known from the message he sent her that it didn’t have to be written in blood, so long as the message was written on her skin.  
  
She’d been thinking all day about what she would write. Having only a limited amount of time, supplies, and skin, it had been fairly easy to decide. Smiling, Aelin dipped the nib into the pot of ink, and wrote.  
  
_Buzzard?_  
  
*****  
  
Rowan and the others traveled quicker that day than they had in weeks. Maeve had been moving Aelin around, trying to keep them off of her trail, but she could only stay away from her court for so long before the petty-minded lords and ladies would want something from her. When Fenrys reached out and sent them a message that they had returned, Rowan had nearly charged ahead without thinking about what they were charging into. They may have been three of the fiercest fae warriors Maeve used to call her own, and one tiny human who Lorcan likened to a fierce kitten, but they were up against countless others.  
  
Rowan had checked his arms, his stomach, and every other patch of skin periodically during the day. Lorcan had even stooped to joking about the inappropriateness of Rowan stripping to nearly nothing in the middle of the woods, earning himself a snarl.  
  
By the time they made camp for the evening, Rowan was pacing with worry. What if Maeve had seen Aelin’s skin? What if, somehow, that connection between them had also been severed, and he had missed out on his chance to tell her that he loved her?  
  
Rolling up his sleeves, Rowan smiled when he saw the word appear.  
  
_Buzzard?_  
  
Grabbing the writing utensils he had borrowed from Gavriel, he leaned back to answer Aelin.  
  
*****  
  
Aelin barely slept that night. She and Rowan passed messages between them for hours, until she was covered with ink and she knew he was as well. The words covered their arms first. There, they discussed the basics: if Aelin was healthy, where she was, what Maeve had done to her, where Rowan was.  
  
There was no need for apologies. Not when they felt that, once they had covered themselves in words, that might be the last communication they would be afforded.  
  
From there, they moved to their thighs. From there, they began to make one another laugh.  
  
_Elide is still mad at Lorcan_ appeared on Aelin’s thigh.  
  
Aelin smiled. She answered, following the line he had made. _Have you kept from throttling him?_  
  
_Yes, only because he has stayed out of my way_ came Rowan’s response.  
  
_Tell me about you._  
  
_Later_ , Rowan wrote.  
  
_No, now_. Aelin was sure that he was rolling his eye at her stubbornness, but there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
_We have time for that_ , Rowan wrote, the message going down the length of her calf.  
  
_Maybe not._  
  
_Aelin._  
  
_Rowan. This is more than I expected. It’s more than I wished for. Please let’s accept it._  
  
_No._  
  
_I’m frowning at you_ , Aelin wrote, and she could practically hear him laughing, his head thrown back and his throat bobbing.  
  
She waited for his response. When it came, it was a flood of words.  
  
_I’m coming for you. We need you. Your court needs you. But mostly, Aelin, you need to want to us to find you. You aren’t going down in a blaze of solitary glory. You aren’t alone._  
  
The words covered one leg, and Aelin looked to her other leg, watching the rest of the message appear.  
  
_I can’t help Elide keep Lorcan in line by myself_. Aelin chuckled as he continued to write. _He’s a handful. Elide searched for you for years, she needs her queen to serve. Lysandra would do anything for you, but she can’t take your life because it means giving up her own._  
  
A small sob escaped Aelin’s throat.  
  
_Aedion needs a queen to swear the blood oath to, or he might start questioning the meaning of life_. Aelin rolled her eyes and smiled. _Dorian needs his friend to share books with. Chaol will come back and blame me for this whole mess_.  
  
_And I need my wife_ , he wrote. There was no more. Aelin began to cry.  
  
He was going to come for her. And she was going to live. She picked up her quill, writing across the palm of her hand.  
  
_To whatever end_.


End file.
